Mayor of Motta
Jun. 28th, 2004 10:06 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
xaaraIn case you actually read the titles of my posts and are wondering about this one, a short explanation follows:
When my family lived in Italy, we rented an apartment in a tiny town called Motta Sant'Anastasia. Its proximity to the NATO base and its picturesque beauty made it simply irresistible, so we went to school there as well. Our friends made good-natured fun of us for being the only Americans to go to the Italian school, and we responded that as American Imperialists we would of course overrun their town and force them to elect my brother Mayor of Motta. They told us that they'd elect him Mayor without a coup, which we joked about until the whole school refered to him as "The Mayor of Motta." Eventually, the joke came home, and my parents thought it was hilarious, so we've been using it ever since.
This year, the real Mayor of Motta was up for re-election, and a good friend of our family, Dr. Antonino Santagati, ran against him. To our everlasting amusement, Nino won. So now we know the real Mayor of Motta. Life is full of little ironies.
The Youth Orchestra Summer Program kicked off today. I promised myself I wasn't going to rant, so here's the long and short of it: it sucks. We have all the levels grouped together, so we have to play music suitable for the beginning students. I could feel my brain turning to mush about halfway through the poor imitation of Mozart that we're supposed to slog though.
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Buffybot
After Willow finishes repairing me, I go to see Spike. I miss him.
He is asleep in his crypt when I got there, so I sit on the end of his sarcophagus and watch him. When his blue eyes open, I smile. He is still pretty. I tell him so.
"Buffy?" he mumbles. He blinks many times, and then he sits up and scrambles away to stand beyond the other side of the sarcophagus. "You."
"Yes, me." I smile again.
"Get the fuck out," he growls. "Don't come back."
I leave, but I don't understand. Doesn't he love me anymore?
When my family lived in Italy, we rented an apartment in a tiny town called Motta Sant'Anastasia. Its proximity to the NATO base and its picturesque beauty made it simply irresistible, so we went to school there as well. Our friends made good-natured fun of us for being the only Americans to go to the Italian school, and we responded that as American Imperialists we would of course overrun their town and force them to elect my brother Mayor of Motta. They told us that they'd elect him Mayor without a coup, which we joked about until the whole school refered to him as "The Mayor of Motta." Eventually, the joke came home, and my parents thought it was hilarious, so we've been using it ever since.
This year, the real Mayor of Motta was up for re-election, and a good friend of our family, Dr. Antonino Santagati, ran against him. To our everlasting amusement, Nino won. So now we know the real Mayor of Motta. Life is full of little ironies.
The Youth Orchestra Summer Program kicked off today. I promised myself I wasn't going to rant, so here's the long and short of it: it sucks. We have all the levels grouped together, so we have to play music suitable for the beginning students. I could feel my brain turning to mush about halfway through the poor imitation of Mozart that we're supposed to slog though.
<<<<>>>><<<<>>>><<<<>>>><<<<>>>>
Buffybot
After Willow finishes repairing me, I go to see Spike. I miss him.
He is asleep in his crypt when I got there, so I sit on the end of his sarcophagus and watch him. When his blue eyes open, I smile. He is still pretty. I tell him so.
"Buffy?" he mumbles. He blinks many times, and then he sits up and scrambles away to stand beyond the other side of the sarcophagus. "You."
"Yes, me." I smile again.
"Get the fuck out," he growls. "Don't come back."
I leave, but I don't understand. Doesn't he love me anymore?
